


Six-Headed Shoal

by Oceanbreeze7



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Angst, Do I know what's canon and what isn't?, Gen, Its recreational because we all get to laugh at it as readers, Not at all!, Recreational Drug Use, Yassen Gregorovich Lives, Yassen needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceanbreeze7/pseuds/Oceanbreeze7
Summary: Artificial Intelligence can not factor for Human Spontaneity.Machines cannot hold places of power.Yassen Gregorovich must be human after all.OrA study in the slow re-humanization of Yassen Gregorovich





	Six-Headed Shoal

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222295) by [pongnosis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pongnosis/pseuds/pongnosis). 



> I hope you enjoy this mess, Pongs~

The woman was completely unlike every agent Alex knew. At first glance, she seemed aristocratic and posh enough to have tea with the Countess. A sliver of a second betrayed his original fleeting impression the moment he caught sight of the things that did not match the standards set. The woman’s hair was free, hanging dark in messy locks over her collarbones towards the top of her bust. Near the ends, faded highlights looked like burnt umber. The lines around her face- deep crows feet in particular made her appearance seem much older than her style of wardrobe. An unconventional long jacket that appeared thin despite the fancy fur trim. A pair of high boots with no hidden weapons or metal reinforcement. Her trousers were basic, but the lack of weapon holster looked more odd.

“Oh, hello.” She smiled, eyes warm and unremarkable. She was good at makeup, or spent an unnecessarily long amount of time working on hiding age lines. “You must be Alex.”

Doctor Three, sitting alongside her with his own cup of tea, crossed his arms casually. He too was dressed more casually, but Alex could still count three- no, four weapons disguised on his figure. This woman had no guns or knives on her older body.

“Sir, ma’am.” Alex said flatly, drawing his lagging foot to stand politely alongside the other. Arms loose at his side, looking like no threat at all. It was always impossible to read Doctor Three’s face, even now that the man had drawn Alex into his small handful of trusted individuals. The woman on the other hand was far far too emotive for Alex’s comfort. The level of facial expressions and sheer delight in her body language was not easy to replicate so perfectly. She would do horrible in the field.

“Oh aren’t you precious.” The woman said. She placed her own cup of tea down on the coffee table- empty. Then, she looked over her shoulder towards the shadowed portion of the room. She showed Alex her back, well it wasn’t specifically her back but she still allowed him out of her sight. Either she trusted Doctor Three to warn her, or she was a much larger threat although Alex couldn’t fathom how.

The woman lifted her hand- short nails with no polish and a chipped thumb, and beckoned someone. From the shadow of the room, a minor staff member appeared looking the smallest portion unsettled. The tense line of their neck and the slight stumble in their gait as the woman beckoned the staff to appear.

“Oh, hello!” The woman said, brightening visibly at the other employee. “Sergay, or another name now I presume. Such silly things, altering covers so readily. Did you prepare my tea last time? It was quite wonderful, you truly do have such a talent, Sergay-.”

“Madam Dimitriu,” Doctor Three said, interrupting calmly and smoothly. “Please stop weaponizing my staff.”

The woman, Dimitriu, went so far as to pout. Her lower lip shifting into something distinctly disappointed. “Oh, don’t ruin my fun so easily. I meant no harm, I was simply letting Sergay know how special he is, right Sergay?”

Alex watched in fascination as the staff member, apparently Sergay, nodded too quickly. He was shaken and unsettled. She had weaponized him somehow? That quickly?

“If you want another cup of tea, please request it in the appropriate manner.”

The woman did not. “Don’t worry, Sergay. You are an exceptional barista, how about I put in a request for you? Only if you’d like, of course. I don’t mean to pressure you at all, but a change of scenery may be nice. I’ll give you a raise if you manage a cuppa every morning like this one,” The woman said.

And then she went so far as to wink, a little genuine smile and a slight sparkle in her eye and the staff, Sergay, shifted his posture ever so carefully. Alex did not miss the way Doctor Three tensed ever so fine.

Was that her technique? Complimenting people into submission? It didn’t seem effective, or SCORPIA’S style in the slightest. Then again, this woman practically screamed that she wasn’t SCORPIA at all.

“Oh, don’t worry. How about you go take a break, I’ll handle the heat. No worries, we’ll be completely fine here. Have a wonderful walk for me, Sergay!”

Madam Dimitriu made a small motion of a wave, and Sergay very hastily left the room.

Doctor Three sighed audibly, Alex tried not to twitch st the noise. 

“Really, at this rate I’ll be out of kitchen staff.” 

The woman laughed, an older noise with a low trace of a wheeze. Alex estimated she was in her late forties, far older than most operatives. “Oh, you say that as if I’m off murdering them. When you drag me around the world without explanation, the least I can be reimbursed with is a dozen of your best brewers.”

Doctor Three didn’t react. “You steal the competent ones every time you visit. His name is not Sergay-.”

“Sergay is the name he enjoyed the most, oh I know, they aren’t supposed to have preferred names. Is this why you refuse to introduce me to Crux?”

Crux, with her disarming smile and her perverse glee for torture, would not last long against this woman, Alex imagined.

“I need to keep some of my competent staff,” Doctor Three said casually, measured and calm. He went so far as to have a sip of his tea, then he beckoned to the chair across the coffee table. An unoccupied small couch that could fit two people comfortably. Alex noted, that Madam Dimitriu was careful not to touch Doctor Three despite their close proximity.

“Take a seat, Alex.” Dimitriu smiled gently. Her crows feet dug in sharper, giving the impression she was trying not to laugh kindly. He didn’t trust her at all.

“This is Agent Orion-.”

“None of that, I despise your code names. We are all friends here, yes? My name is Crina Dimitriu, I do prefer you call me Crina as its much more casual than that larger unnecessary title. It’s so wonderful to meet you, Alex.”

Her tone didn’t waver, even through the normal inflections of her distinct subtle accent. The smile and her lines didn’t change, suggesting a lie. Her body angled forward when she spoke, going so far as to turn slightly away from Doctor Three to almost box Alex in with her body and words. Despite the fact the Doctor was right there, Alex couldn’t help the low unsettling feeling that her words were meant for him, and him alone. Completely intimate and worse than that- genuine, and all at once he felt the desperate urge to leave the room.

He couldn’t of course, because Crina was smiling at him excitedly and he had no doubt that she very much wanted to meet him for a long while.

His tongue felt like a fat maggot, but he managed a slightly delayed “Ma’am.”

She pouted again, the slight expression of disappointment. The laugh lines faded, she looked slightly sad although not in a way akin to crying. She was disappointed in him due to a failure of a suggestion and not an order- he hadn’t broken a rule so why did his throat seize and his chest feel so wretchedly tight?

“Ma’am makes me feel so old,” Crina said, running one hand through her dark hair. There were sections of silver behind her ears. “I mean, I am but I hadn’t expected to be so wounded by someone so young. Oh, it’s completely fine Alex, whatever you’re more comfortable calling me, I don’t wish to unsettle you at all. You must feel that enough as it is.”

He felt the inexplicable urge to assure her that it was fine, to console her that it wasn’t her fault. He bit his tongue sharply and made sure his breathing was level. He did not like her.

“Orion,” Doctor Three said very calmly, watching him sharply from over Carina’s shoulder. “Madam Dimitriu is a...consultant, of SCORPIA. Her talents are unique but are incomparable with SCORPIA’S protocols. We have maintained a mutually beneficial arrangement for decades, and with SCORPIA’S new direction I feel it best to introduce you to the potential operation at hand.”

There was a lot to process, a lot of subtle bits of information already filtering through Alex’s head. This woman, Crina, was an external consultant who clearly had tools unique to weaponizing individuals. Sleeper soldiers? Interrogation? Doctor Three had treated her respectfully, but everything in his posture was polite only out of necessity-.

“I can see that brain of yours whirring.” Crina said quietly, musing on the thought. Her right hand lifted and curled so her chin wrested on the backside, elbow propped on her knee. A look of adoration one might give art, but instead focused on Alex. “I’d say you’re clever but what an insult, Alex. You’re absolutely brilliant, oh what horrible things you’ve seen, and look at you now. So capable, exceptional. The world has been so cruel, hasn’t it?”

Alex’s brain locked up, his mouth felt dry but saliva pooled under his tongue. 

He did not like this. 

Doctor Three sighed quietly, looking more resigned than anything. “Alex, given your unique status I decided to listen to your perspective for this situation.”

This, Alex knew. “Yes sir.”

Crina’s smile shifted into something a bit more predatory. Alex recognizes belatedly, that his fast response to Doctor Three and muted silence to her had already proven his discomfort. 

“It’s okay, I just wanted to talk with you before we jumped into anything too quickly.” Crina smiled gentle but it felt so wrong. Twisting in Alex’s stomach like a knife- she was anything but kind. “I hate operating missions with too little information. It’s horrid, isn’t it?”

It was.

Crina nodded, as if she had never anticipated a response. “Alex, do you know why we don’t use AI for running the world?”

The shift of questions jump started his brain. The question innocent and open, the fat slug of his mouth cooperated only slightly breathless. “Artificial Intelligence is unable to factor and process aspects of human nature and reasoning.”

Crina smiled bright and delighted and Alex hated the little piece inside of him helpless to bask in her pride. “Exactly! Humans are such wonderful things- we have emotions that are so complex and lead to the most unpredictable outcomes. What would happen if we did use a computer to predict human emotions?”

Alex thought, took his time, and responded as condensed as he could. “The suggested outcomes would be inaccurate, Ma’am.”

Crina smiled, and slid back in her seat. Alex hadn’t realized how close she had gotten. Her perfume was subtle, the idea she wore perfume was more a slap in the face than anything.

“That is precisely the issue we have at hand,” Doctor Three resumed calmly, a breath of fresh air. “The current governing heads of SCORPIA consist of myself as Mr. Gregorovich. As you are aware, Kosack has operated in the field for countless years. This level of ability has, in simple terms, removed various aspects of human nature required to operate an organization such as SCORPIA.”

Alex felt the adrenaline spike and coarse through him. Hot and irritating, burning behind his eyes and dampening the small of his back. He very carefully did not relax. “With all due respect, sir. I do not agree with your decision.”

Crina clapped. Alex almost snarled at her with the rise of his aggression. How could she laugh, when they were casually bartering for Yassen’s-.

“Oh you’re phenomenal,” she cooed, “absolutely wonderful. No, Alex, although that level of faith and loyalty- never lose that. We aren’t suggesting anything so harsh as to- to remove Yassen. Of course not, no that would be...”

Crina pulled her own hand across her throat, with a low wet noise in the back of her throat. Comedic, casual. Her fingers drew precisely along the line Yassen kept hidden behind his high collar.

Alex exhaled through his nose, and counted backwards until adrenaline didn’t make his fingers curl or tremble.

“Similar to your own situation, I have proposed the concept of...deconditioning, Mr. Gregorovich.”

Alex breathed and counted. Carefully, counting his heart beat. Breathing through his nose. Ignoring water on his skin and the all consuming terror-.

“Conditioned responses are a liability, sir.” Alex said. A careful response.

Crina smiled and nodded slowly, “they are. In the world of psychology, the entire operation of SCORPIA operates on conditioning field agents into a select model of movement and thought processes. The fact that you, Alex, have not abandoned your emotions or morality is something to be treasured. I am so very proud of you for that.”

Alex heard her words, and forced himself to dismiss them and remove them from his mind. He couldn’t, they lingered soft and gentle and he tried to remove them like the stinging burn of vomit in his nose. “I do not understand, Sir, Ma’am.”

Doctor Three didn’t look surprised. Crina looked far too savage to lie. “Well, I’ve been called here to ah, how should I say this...shred that pesky conditioning around Cossack and expose that deeply repressed human underneath.”

Oh, that wasn’t going to be good.

* * *

 

Crina crossed her ankles, the worn oilskin making the softest noise as her boots rubbed against one another. The boy was very interesting.

Alex Rider, second in command to SCORPIA’s new executive board member. At first glance he was unassuming, but Crina had long since learned to ignore the external appearance of others.

He still maintained the deep instinctual urge for affection- to be recognized and coddled like any other child. It had been beaten out of him through trial and hardship, but with some subtle prodding it returned. He also was fiercely loyal, almost to a fault if not for who he was loyal to. Crina could see the boy being an obstacle, but it was more likely that he instead would be incentive.

“Horrid timing to call me back,” she said, shifting her calves ever so slightly so the worn oilskin boots sang like crickets, “I had nearly persuaded the president of Brazil to reach out to SCORPIA for protection.”

The boy’s body language didn’t change, but even he wasn’t so skilled to remain blank around the eyes. The small twitch along his eyelashes, the wrinkle of his chapped lip which suggested recognition.

“Speak freely, Alex. I prefer it. We are all humans here,” Crina said simply.

Alex paused, perhaps counting or steadying himself before responding. Good restraint then, perhaps an impulsive mind with equally impulsive actions. “I was unaware that the President of Brazil had employed any agents, Ma’am.”

“He hasn’t. The Brazilian cartel has funded the Presidency for decades, I’m sure you’re aware of the corrupt election process. I’ve spent some of my time influencing and offering my thoughts, implying that SCORPIA connections may be beneficial.”

She understated a fair portion of it. The Brazilian cartel wasn’t so to speak, a single cartel, but an understatement for the entire countries network of isolated drug smuggling trade. The drug production in the rainforest itself could fund a medium sized country for years, not to mention the spider web of dealing and price exchange. The influence of the President of Brazil instead created a power vacuum, where only the most unified drug network would manage to take control and supply influence, crushing out the smaller networks for self gain. Why should SCORPIA offer its resources to unify a country when the country could battle in a free for all with SCORPIA backing the champion?

Doctor Three didn’t look too impressed, but he had long since known her streak of odd and atypical assignments she selected based on her own enjoyment. Similar to high level operatives, she picked the cases that interested her.

“That is impressive work, ma’am.” Alex said eventually. Neutral and safe.

“Thank you,” Crina smiled, noticing the subtle twitch of his throat where his heart distorted his skin. He wasn’t used to blatant praise. “Truthfully I only entertain the more interesting cases. The President’s daughter has a disorder known as Body Integrity Identity Disorder, or rather she is obsessive around self-amputation. I’ve overseen all her toes and the majority of her right arm. Quite interesting, truly.”

Alex paused and took the time necessary to comprehend what she said. He inhaled and exhaled smoothly, barely a shake in his breath. Truly remarkable.

“Madam Dimitriu is the spearpoint of psychology, specializing in the broad field of manipulation.” Doctor Three summarized, finishing with a rather cruel grin. “Whereas I master the field of ah, physical persuasion, Madam Dimitriu masters subconscious persuasion.”

“Or more obvious persuasion.” Crina smiled gently, “I’d say that I could, with time, reasonably talk my way from any situation, but you know as well as I that sometimes that is impossible.”

“You don’t have any weapons on you.” Alex noted calmly, finally his tongue and tenseness loosening to obvious discussion. 

“I have my tongue,” Crina winked, and Alex looked away thoughtfully.

The door behind Alex interrupted them with three crisp knocks. Perfectly on time according to the clock secured to the west-most wall. Precisely forty five minutes after Alex’s summons, on the spot for evening tea.

Crina folded her hands in her lap and smiled, making sure the corners of her lips didn’t pull too far back. Doctor Three sighed near silently besides her, already resigned with the discussion to be held.

The door opened, quicker and smoother than Alex’s own entry. Yassen Gregorovich’s eyes met her and his body stilled ever so slightly, small micromovements along his face and hands which instantly read hostility. Alex, to her delight, tended a portion of a second after. The amount he had relaxed in her presence was not missed by Yassen, for his mouth tilted downwards in as much expression as he would ever display. 

He closed the door, and very smoothly prowled across the floor. Silent and lithe, it had been quite a while since she had seen him last.

“Hello, it’s been quite a while.” Crina said. Her voice smooth and friendly, she watched the way he seated himself alongside Alex but not quite touching. The boy tensed nearly as much as Yassen, on alert but mentally perplexed as to the cause.

“Mr. Gregorovich,” Doctor Three greeted casually, one hand rotating slightly to beckon towards Crina, “I’m certain you remember Madam Dimitriu.”

Yassen’s expression didn’t shift. As blank and robotic as ever. “We have met.”

Alex on the other hand shifted slightly, gently restraining himself from some sort of outburst.

“Go ahead, Alex, I enjoy discussion.” Crina encouraged gently, “ah, forgive me one moment. I believe our drinks are ready?”

Indeed they were. Sergay, the sweet soldier nearly drooling for praise and recognition, returned. Instead of a knife or a gun, his hands gripped a standard metal platter outfitted with a collection of tea cups each with fragrant aroma. Much to Crina’s delight, and expectation, his right hip had a standard nondescript dark blue bottle and a shimmering crystal thin stemmed glass.

“Ah, absolutely wonderful,” Crina praised just as she knew he wanted, “oh, you’ve truly outdone yourself. This is spectacular- thank you, Sergay. Truly,” her hand brushed his fingertips along the thin strip of wrist exposed from his gloves. She could feel his skin twitch under her ‘accidental touch’ as she retrieved the anonymous bottle, “thank you.”

The operative nodded abruptly and left, leaving behind the little platter. Crina was slightly amused to recognize the tea blend as one more exotic and expensive than SCORPIA’s norm.

She barely hesitated, reaching into her small purse to retrieve a corkscrew. She broke the cork, pouring a generous quantity of red wine into her crystal glass as Doctor Three took his own tea and held it calmly.

“Wine?” Alex blurted the moment he recognized the colour. It was a bit outrageous, given SCORPIA’s feelings toward alcohol at all.

Like a mouse trap snapping shut, Alex’s unconscious outburst sealed Yassen’s fate.

“I know,” Crina rolled her eyes, “everyone here is so tight lipped about this. This is my true bribery, good Italian wine. Would you care for a sip? Not a lot, I understand the importance of your profession after all.”

Alex paused, then his hand twitched.

It wasn’t a big movement, perhaps it was a muscle twitch after all. The suggestion, that Alex would have a sip even after disregarding SCORPIA’s own notion of alcohol spoke wonders to Crina’s skill and ability. She had casually commandeered an operative, influenced him to ask the kitchens for what she enjoyed, brought alcohol to her and now she, completely dismissing Yassen Gregorovich’s personal rules, had offered Alex alcohol. The fact he had shown the barest inclination to accept was enough to send warning sirens throughout everyone in the room.

“Crina-.” Doctor Three said, using her preferred title in a strange sense of compromise.

Yassen did not as much? For he shifted his body ever so carefully so his right knee now brushed along Alex’s left with an undeniable pressure. His expression sharpened and cooled into something lethal. He said no words, but the instant subconscious protective display was fascinating in its own right.

Alex stilled, his eyes glazed slightly as he stared at nothing and very forcefully breathed regularly.

“I would appreciate leaving my second out of our discussions.” Yassen spoke flatly, controlled.

Crina’s smile didn’t shift, “ah, forgive me then. Alex and I have had a wonderful chat before your arrival, would you like some tea?”

Doctor Three almost sighed again, Crina felt enthralled with the choked off rage in Yassen’s eyes.

“Enough of this,” Doctor Three said, setting his now empty cup of tea on the table between them. He drank his pure, no sugar or milk. “Madam Dimitriu is not here for Orion.”

It didn’t relax Yassen, who still stared at Crina with an unveiled dislike.

“I’m here for you, Yassen.” Crina smiled, taking a sip from her little crystal glass. “It’s been a while, years I believe.”

Yassen did not respond.

It was easy to tell from Alex’s ever so subtle shifting of his shoulders, that he was deferring to Yassen for what to do. Here, under Crina’s assault, even Yassen wasn’t so untouchable. Doctor Three felt weary in a way he had not in years. If he knew this sort of trouble would Snowball, he should have requested some wine as well.

“Alex has done an excellent job retaining characteristics of himself, despite your teaching.” Doctor Three simplified.

“Even Hunter was admirable in his split division of human traits.”

Alex perked ever so slightly, ever so subtly under Yassen’s protective presence.

“You on the other hand, are a wonderful Yassen shaped ball of repression and poor coping mechanisms.” Crina said smoothly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Alex?”

Alex wisely said nothing.

Crina looked self satisfied with something, although it could have been the wine that stained her lips red. Alex doubted it.

“The way I view this situation,” Crina said, “is that your methodology, Yassen Gregorovich, is spotless. You rely on the infallible odds of those you know, yet your position as SCORPIA’s Board of Executives does not support complete awareness of every individual situation.”

Yassen tensed ever so further. He still did not speak.

“I have been pulled from my work with the offer, to finally dig my little claws in your skull.”

Crina’s expression reminded Alex of the hyenas. Monstrous and intelligent, curious but also willing to crunch bone the moment it suited them better. 

“You are not permitted.” Yassen said.

“A rule set in place by Hunter, and a rule which has been revoked and reinstated under Alex. I’m sure you’re agreeable to these terms.”

A shift, a trade off. Yassen relieved some of the heavy pressure his knee forced on Alex’s leg, but only just. The smallest assurance that apparently, Alex would be unharmed

“I’ve requested a few additional precautions,” Doctor Three said, “Orion’s sleeping areas are to be reinforced with three deadlocks, as well as a security alarm. All weapons within the suite will be removed, and an alert button is to be installed.”

Alex hunkered down, drawing in on himself ever so slightly. Disappointment, weakness. He had interpreted it as precautions for his own aggressive behaviour.

“This is to keep you, Alex, safe.” Crina said. 

“This process will not be pretty, but I imagine it will be much worse if we were to isolate you two.”

“Why?” Alex blurted; the edge of disbelief where his mental filter fell apart, “won’t I get in the way?”

Crina tilted her head ever so slightly, finger tapping on the lip of her wine glass. She looked oddly relaxed and mischievous, content in something Alex recognized as subtly hidden cruelty. “I’m not the one who has already evaluated seven ways to kill me in this very room.”

Cautiously Alex glanced to his side to look at Yassen, to read the slightly hunkered shift to his torso. 

“Nine ways,” Yassen corrected coldly.

Crina’s lips thinned, “nine ways then.”

* * *

Alex didn’t know how to feel about the three deadlocks on the inside of his door. They were large, thick blocks of metal as wide as two of Alex’s fingers, secured into place by an aluminum support rod that wouldn’t pull out from the wall. Even a well lobbed grenade wouldn’t break it, maybe carefully applied C4 in strategic locations but then the support for the ceiling would cave as well. Alex’s room was completely impenetrable from the outside, unless someone took a sledgehammer to the reinforced concrete filled walls and tried to break in that way. It would be long, loud, and ultimately useless.

Alex flicked the lock around, spinning the little knob a half dozen times before the lock completely engaged, then rotating it the other way.

The door was open, leaning into the seating area. Alex was in broad view of Yassen who looked completely relaxed to most. Alex could see the tension in his frame, the harsher lines where the muscles of his neck stood out boldly and caused what looked like a painful headache. Alex had seen Yassen stressed before, but not like this. He seemed more...uncertain, of the future, whereas in the past he was only stressed that Alex would make the right choices.

“I don’t need these.” Alex said, flipping the lock again, hearing it click softly and engage with open air. “You won’t hurt me like that.”

“I’ve hurt you before.” Yassen said.

“Only when I deserved it.”

They fell Into a steady silence, Alex disengaging and engaging the locks over and over because anxious fingers couldn’t be stilled. Yassen had a book on the coffee table, a Japanese one that Alex had no hopes of reading. Yassen didn’t touch it.

* * *

 

The schedule was as such.

Early in the morning, before Alex even rose to exercise, Yassen would have his appointment. Often Alex would wake up and Yassen would be long gone in the morning. Returning only after Alex had showered, then he’d vanish off to do what else duties he was required. Yassen had another appointment nightly, either at midnight itself or just before, depending on Yassen’s structure for the day. Crina didn’t seem the type to stay up all night, but then again maybe all sadists slept an inanely little amount.

Twice a week for as long as it took, to apparently break Yassen Gregorovich. Alex would have bet money that Yassen would hold out, except he had seen and met Crina and knew her strength first hand. Alex didn’t know how long he could hold out- it was worse than T&I, because it was gentle and sweet and killed you between two ribs. It wasn’t a knife or a gun but it was the slow kiss of lead poisoning from drinking water you trusted.

He didn’t know how long he would resist, but he wasn’t surprised when it was nearly one week later that he spotted something odd.

Fifteen appointments, almost thirty hours alone with Crina and your own skull for company. It was a horrible terrifying thought.

Alex came out of his room after his shower, wearing only sweatpants and boxers high on his hips. He paused in the doorway, one hand still securing the towel in his hair. He’d need a trim soon, but his hair hasn’t gotten to a length where it was unmanageable.

“Yassen?” Alex blurted unthinkingly, the sight of the older man on the little standard couch was surprising this early. “I thought you had a meeting?”

Yassen blinked twice, very quickly. His expression blank but there was a slight distant quality in his eyes that made Alex’s hair stand on end.

Alex paused, and very slowly pulled his towel down from his hair to plop it on the ground. Both hands exposed and harmless, the air cold on his exposed stomach. “Yassen?”

“What time is it?” Yassen asked, curt, punctual. Alex’s eyes flickered to the clock almost exactly behind Yassen. The hands were large and obvious.

“It’s a quarter to eight.” Alex said slowly, unsure exactly what else to say.

Yassen blinked once more, then stood up and left through the front door without saying another word.

* * *

There was something very soothing about having tea outside under a parasol. Something very British, with little lady fingers and small cookies with Earl Grey under noon sun.

“Wonderful weather.” Crina mused, swirling a lady finger in her tea. She had slipped something into her tea, a white powder that Alex presumed was a painkiller.

“It’s good tea.” Alex offered, unable to take his eyes off the bland medical sling that suggested a mild shoulder injury. The thick padding of gauze along the top suggested more a surface graze, rather than a deep tissue injury, but Alex knew that shoulder injuries hurt. 

“Sergay makes such wonderful cups.” Crina sighed, nibbling on the now soggy cookie, “it’s called a cuppa, yes?”

“Uh, yes. British slang is cuppa.” Alex confirmed, the word slipping through ever so slightly with his old accent.

Crina hummed to herself, repeating it under her breath curiously as she glanced out at the garden.

“If I may ask, ma’am-.” Alex paused, unsure how to proceed.

“Do be blunt,” Crina said, “I’ve been dealing with your boss all day and I’m rather out of patience for vague and mysterious.”

Alex looked down quickly to try and hide the slight smile that twitched his lips. “The sling? Ma’am?”

Crina hummed, taking a sip of tea before looking at Alex with an expression deeply bitter.

“I had quite the breakthrough, although I imagine my arm and my mirrors are casualty of such a battle.”

Alex blinked quickly. “Battle? Ma’am?”

“The war of me versus Yassen Gregorovich’s emotional constipation.” Crina sighed fondly. “Although, I will admit that the hallucinogenic should have been applied after weapons were removed. I’m lucky Yassen is a horrible shot when high on mushrooms.”

Alex gaped. “You didn’t.”

“Oh I did,” Crina said bitterly. “I can’t even drink wine with my medication. Good thing I have the next best thing.”

“More mushrooms?”

“No.” Crina reached into the massive purse she brought with her, and pulled out two bright red plastic cups. The label was something Alex could only dream of. He nearly teared up at the sight.

“Pringles,” Alex breathed in awe, “Ya- Mr. Gregorovich wouldn’t approve.”

“Mr. Gregorovich is currently trying to explain my fourteen shattered mirrors and his bleeding hand to infirmary while intoxicated on psychedelics. Eat your Pringles, Alex.” 

Alex’s mouth filled with drool at the sight of so much corn syrup. He swallowed it, managing to choke out a questionable “fourteen?” 

“I’m a very vain woman, Alex.” Crina said, passing out the chips. “I’m more irritated that drinking wine doesn’t fit my aesthetic anymore, than I am about the gunshot.”

* * *

Alex woke up already moving. Sliding out of bed into the ground in a fraction of a second. He could feel where his hair brushed his night table- a close call for smacking it with his skull on the way down.

He was confused for a moment as to what could have woken him so abruptly. To his knowledge, nothing had happened. His ears were ringing, throbbing with the echo of something loud, and his entire body vibrated visibly with adrenaline and epinephrine and other hormones. There was no chance he’d be able to go back to sleep, not when his body was so alert his jaw was twitching slightly with shivers.

The pounding didn’t ache from his ears, and very slowly he began to crawl across the carpet. Nothing in his room was different- no suspicious lights from under the door. All three of deadlocks, as per ordered, were locked. Alex climbed to a crouch, then a careful stand as all senses spread in alarm. Nothing was amiss except the loud headache. 

The deadlocks unlocked loudly, each shifting before disengaging. The clock ticked ominously in the living room as Alex crept about, thankful that he had slipped a small handgun that Yassen insist he carry in his room, into the band of his trousers. 

The light of the single shared washroom was on, although the door was closed. What sort of weapon was in the washroom? Yassen’s straight razor was as sharp and as deadly as any knife, maybe the mouthwash could be used if thrown in someone’s eyes fast enough. Maybe a needle in the minor injury kit- but nothing that couldn’t be stopped with the glock pressing against Alex’s spine.

Alex pressed his back to the adjacent wall and listened. His heart steadied and through it, he could hear the small patter of dripping water. Not an invader then, just Yassen in the washroom at-

Alex checked the clock. 3:32 AM. 

“Yassen?” Alex spoke loud enough to be heard through the door. He waited a second for decency, then pushed the door open. 

The first thing he noticed was that the mirror directly across from the entryway was obliterated. Shards of glass as small as rice and as large as leaves littered the floor- over Yassen’s practical leather shoes he wore when outside his room at any point. No glass in his feet then, but it meant the mirror broke when he was stationary in front of it.

“Yassen?” Alex tried again, feeling a sudden chill as he slid half a step into the washroom. The lighting at 3 am made the shadows under Yassen’s eyes a bit darker. For a man who slept 4 hours a night, he looked ill when he had less.

“Yassen?” Alex tried once more, his eyes surveying the room quickly, “can I take that gun?”

Yassen didn’t respond. Alex was careful to not approach suddenly, but his hands trembled when he reached the countertop and managed to slide the weapon away. Both of Yassen’s hands were over his skull, thick covered with gauze from apparently punching mirrors. The gun wasn’t on safety, and it smelled hot like gunpowder.

“I’m going to put this away,” Alex said, sliding the safety on with a low shaky exhale, sliding it clumsily into his waistband. His pants weren’t made for the weight of two guns, he would be afraid they’d sag if not for the priority at hand. “Are you alright?”

Both of Yassen’s hands were stained rust dark, dark under the fingernails and contorted where they clutched his skull. Yassen always kept his hair short, but it did little to protect his skin from the fingernail slivers piercing his skull. Harsh- his knuckles were bone white.

His ears were bleeding, sluggish half clotted drips down each lobe. Aftershock from the sound echoing in such an acoustic place. If he hadn’t ruptured his eardrum, it would be perforated at the minimum. Alex guessed the man couldn’t hear him at all with how much Alex’s ears were ringing.

What had Yassen done for him, what felt like years ago on the yacht? Alex remembered hazily something like a blanket, he remembered being shaky and handed hot chocolate by a battle weary team.

Yassen normally hated hot chocolate, but Alex felt at a loss. Punching mirrors then escalating to shooting them seemed like a dangerous jump. 

Alex realized very coldly, Why Doctor Three was so insistent he have deadlocks installed.

Alex left, mentally scrambling over what to do. Hot chocolate, right. Jack used to make it for him from scratch, with baking chocolate from a tin and milk warmed on the stove top.

They had milk, full cream in a glass bottle that Alex used in his tea on occasion. Baking chocolate was absent, but in the freezer they did have a block of dark cooking chocolate that was some insane percent cocoa that he had a feeling Yassen would appreciate.

Melting it took time, and made the little kitchen smell like tin gas. The milk turned orange before it took a plunge and tainted itself dark brown. The smell was still bitter, so Alex very cautiously threw in as much sugar as he dared. The last thing he wanted was to make something inedible.

When Alex returned to the washroom, Yassen hadn’t budged. The blood on his ears clotted fully, looking like thick black leeches. Alex swallowed, and shouldered his way into the no-man-zone of Yassen’s bedroom.

Another day, he would have paused and taken survey. He didn’t have the time, especially not when he noticed the fractured mirrors (thankfully not shot- more like kicked with impressive flexibility) and slightly torn blanket. 

Alex set the cocoa on the matching side table as his room and took off in a swift jog to grab the thick duvet from his own room. Yassen liked thinner blankets, the ease of removing them in a hurry if necessary. Alex found that the weight and pressure did more to relax him than anything else could.

“Yassen,” Alex said, entering the washroom with slippers. The glass crunched slightly, and with a tentative throw he tossed the duvet over Yassen’s Head.

Yassen lashed out, but Alex expected that. He would have too if a blanket was thrown over him suddenly. It took a minute before Yassen’s stuff frame melted into a different sort of rigid, an aware high strung amble that jerkily pulled the duvet to the floor.

Alex very slowly retrieved the duvet, shaking off the glass, and approached with the caution of cornering a wild animal.

A spark, and Alex nearly wheezed with relief. Yassen rubbed the bridge of his nose, murmuring a low gargled “Alex?”

Alex nodded, too jittery to speak. He threw the blanket again, aim a bit off since it mostly shaded Yassen’s left shoulder.

Yassen stared at the duvet blankly, looking a bit bewildered and unsure what to do. Alex very carefully slid to his side and corrected the duvet so now it was a large blue cape around a Yassen shape body.

“Come on,” Alex soothed, trying to direct the man to his room. After a pause and some shuffling they managed along. Yassen looked just as alarmed and perhaps even more bewildered when Alex nudged the hot cocoa into his trembling hand.

“It’s sweet.” Yassen said bluntly, staring at it foggily.

Alex didn’t know what to do, he was fairly sure Yassen still couldn’t hear him, so he sat next to the man on his bed and hoped his body pressure was enough.

* * *

“He’s acting really weird.” Alex said, chewing on his lower lip nervously. Crina had expressed that she preferred Alex’s normally repressed body language. The end of the week his lip would be a single giant scab.

He felt...bad. It felt wrong to sell out Yassen’s private life, but it also felt necessary. Alex had been  _ scared,  _ terrified even. The vacant expression, the splintered glass.

Alex had never seen Yassen like that before. He hadn’t thought him capable.

“He scared me.” Alex said. Hating how hollow his voice said.

Crina looked at Alex, tilting her head ever so slightly. Her hair was pinned up in a bun, but it wasn’t well done. Messy with loose strands, a lock of hair coming loose behind her left ear. Her lipstick was perfect, the lines under her eyes distracting and obvious. “Is that so?”

It felt wrong, to sell out Yassen. This woman was a threat, but she also had both of her hands in Yassen’s business and withholding information could result in Yassen being hurt. Withholding information to maintain Yassen’s privacy would hurt the man eventually. Selling him out would betray his trust. 

“He shot the mirror.” Alex said. “The middle of the night.”

Crina Dimitrui smiled, more lines creasing into her face. “I’ll put on his file to remove mirrors before our sessions then.”

Alex nodded, looking down at his lap. She continued to order him tea, playing around with the common brands that Alex remembered growing up with. He hadn’t the opportunity to drink them again in... _ years. _

“So interesting, mirrors.” Crina mused, tapping on her cup. They were sitting outside, watching the newer recruits run through the obstacle course. They were all slow, improving but at a rate Yassen would never approve of. One new operative missed a jump, slamming his midsection into a log. Crina ducked her head to take a sip of tea and avoid laughing. “Mirrors were often believed to be bad luck. Broken, fractured images reflecting our faces.”

Crina set her cup down, crossing one leg over her knee. “Mirrors reflect our images- we tend to view the worst of ourselves and poke flaws in our appearance. For a man like Yassen, who cares not at all for visual appearance, one can’t help but ponder if he reflects the workings of his subconscious.”

“He shot the mirror.” Alex said, his mouth feeling dry despite his drink. “He wouldn’t shoot himself.”

Crina looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Mirrors reflect many things. It’s curious why he decided to shoot it.”

* * *

It was easy to forget that Crina Dimitriu was a woman to be feared. 

In Malagosto, anyone wearing a Flak jacket or SCORPIA uniforms demanded attention and respect. Alex could walk down the hallways on a good day, wearing his standard vest and have new operatives nearly twice his age step aside to let him pass. The first week of the new term, recruits were practically flinging themselves to the side them moment they spotted him. Keeping the head low and sheltered as Alex stomped past in all his young teenage glory.

Crina on the other hand, had a sense of style that was both appalling and intriguing. She wore no weapons, standing out unusually considering the entire school was  _ for  _ weapons. Nothing- not even a pen knife in her shoes. She wore gaudy little sandals, one strap broken and fixed with what looked like duct tape and sharpie. Her coat was leather and far too hot for the weather, and her sunhat was floppy and not at all flattering to the entire outfit. She looked like a tourist in the Bahamas that got lost and was now having the time of her life at an assassin school. The large bottle of chardonnay at her side- the one she was drinking from like it was an oversized beer bottle, really pulled her outfit together.

“Here,” Crina said, pulling off her sunhat to offer it to Alex. Alex, standing at attention with both arms loose at his side, knew that it would be dangerous to deny her this. He carefully lifted the hat- a plastic weave that he recognized from most low quality stores, and placed it on top of his head. The shade provided was a few degrees cooler, chilling the sweat along his hairline.

“Take a seat, go ahead.” Crina said, beckoning to the other lawn recliner that now stayed permanently on top of the building. Alex didn't know where they had come from- did Crina send two assassin operatives to a public pool to steal lawn chairs?

“I had a wonderful idea the other day,” Crina said happily, using both hands to support the large bottle of wine as she took a dainty sip. “An absolutely fantastic idea. I already persuaded a kitchen staff into being our referee- would you like to play miniature golf with me?”

Alex blinked twice, unable to compose a ,reply in the time it took for Crina to begin her long tale for why miniature golf was a wonderful training exercise.

“Ma’am,” Alex started, “I don’t believe I will need to... _ put-put,  _ a bomb into a small area for detonation.”

“A woman can dream, Alex.” Crina said, sighing dramatically. “In truth you are still a young boy and a friendly competition without the threat of death or bodily harm will do wonders to your self confidence and prevent your implosion. That, and I believe that you are bad at miniature golf and are, in your lingo,  _ chicken shit. _ ”

Alex had to bite his tongue quickly to prevent his instinctual argument. He kept his breathing calm, his face relaxed. Tom would have said something similar- afterwards they would have gone to get ice cream and bemoan the heat. Tom would have been competitive, playing the same ridiculous round over and over. His athleticism compared to Alex’s better dexterity. They would have lost a fluorescent golf ball somewhere.

“Yes Ma’am.” Alex said professionally.

Crina frowned, and sighed very quietly.

* * *

“I take it back,” Crina said, smiling so wide her dimples were on full display. “ _ This  _ is my excellent idea.”

Alex couldn’t even argue. The situational humour was so incredible even Alex had to stage a few coughs to get his eyes to stop watering.

Yassen  _ was  _ prone to sunburn. It was a careful calm factual thing that Crina offered. The idea of fetching sunscreen was kind, but in truth Yassen always wore standardized SCORPIA garb which left only his neck and head exposed- except his hands which always moved. The only risk for sunburn was his face, so it was only logical that he be passed the plastic tourist sunhat and maintain his status of health.

That, and Alex didn’t think he would ever forget Yassen wearing a gaudy sunhat holding a flat-end wrought iron fire poker. They didn’t have any miniature golf clubs. A heavy metal fire poker was the closest they could get- and a spare teacup served as their ‘hole’.

Where Crina had found golf balls, Alex was afraid to ask.

Yassen had spent decades learning skills necessary to be a successful assassin. Physics, calculus; years worth of mental calculation to understand and adjust for variables like wind, and distance. Yassen was intelligent, able to judge distances accurately and alter his path accordingly. He paused, lining up to run through a series of mental math- double checking and shifting properly for proper follow through-.

“Shh,” Crina whispered to Alex fondly, “he went to assassin school for this moment. All his life, for this one shot.”

Alex bit his lip, and felt a small wet trickle of blood.

“All his life, Alex.” Crina continued to whisper, fascinated as Yassen’s muscles moved slowly and gracefully, “anything for the shot, Alex.”

Yassen swung with the power of precisely three horse-flies, and sent the little golf ball three feet into the little teacup.

“The crowd goes wild.” Crina whispered directly into Alex’s ear, barely able to stop grinning herself.

It was odd- completely surreal. An idea that felt more like a fabrication of a feverish mind- or what Alex imagined taking several drugs would feel like. Yassen was...good, at miniature golf. Alex hadn’t thought he’d be bad at it, but it was slightly discouraging to see the man be so perfect at even something as asinine as this.

Then again, Alex wasn’t sure how he’d ever survive if it turned out that Yassen was  _ bad  _ at miniature golf.

The day wore on, Yassen vanishing in favour of a necessary meeting. The new recruits were still bad at the obstacle course- the worst one had slammed into a thick cable wire and hadn’t gotten up since. Alex suspected the recruit had a broken bone and likely wouldn’t be back soon. Malagosto had little care for people who couldn’t handle the burden, even if it was a petty accident.

Crina continued to be odd. Taking her sunhat back to shade her face as she very obnoxiously started to flip through what looked like a teenage romance novel. The kind of book where the front cover had a shirtless man atop a white stallion. 

“That isn’t  _ actually  _ a romance book, right?” Alex asked, unable to stop the sickening horror of the situation. Crina Dimitriu had been enraptured by the text, reading it with a delighted sort of fascination. 

“It’s whatever you wish it to be.” Crina said, not bothering to look up from her reading. She was about halfway down the left page. “If you prefer to think that I get my kicks out of reading porn in public, then go right ahead.”

Alex balked, flinching viscerally backwards in his plastic lawn recliner. He stared forward, feeling rather shocked and stunned by her blatant words.

“You realize, Alex Rider,” Crina said calmly, “that although I seem obnoxious and odd, I  _ am  _ a dangerous woman.”

Alex swallowed. He stared forward, regulating his breathing. In and out cyclically, calmly even as his heart kicked up its frantic pounding.

Crina turned the page finally. She was an average reader; Alex thought she’d be faster.

“I suppose this is when I give you some sort of demonstration of my talents,” Crina said, “but that’s not necessary. Yassen Gregorovich is afraid of me, and that’s enough of an explanation for anyone. You see, Mr. Gregorovich has locked away so much of himself, the idea of being human terrifies him. Whereas with you, you’re so  _ unable  _ to lock away yourself, the idea of losing control and molding yourself into a perfect weapon is your greatest fear.”

Alex breathed in and out. The obstacle course looked much more ominous with nobody on it. A jungle of wires and cables and logs as thick as a man’s torso. It would hurt- it was cruel.

“I am here to make sure that you never become Yassen Gregorovich,” Crina explained, “and that’s not even my  _ job.  _ I liked Hunter, he was interesting and successful. He was proud and a hard worker, but he still loved and had a family.”

Crina closed her book, letting it crease before she set it atop her thighs. She turned, body leaning towards Alex.

Alex didn’t look at her, but he could see her face from the corner of his eyes. She shape of her cheekbones, the wrinkles and the bold makeup.

“You are the consequence of my own actions,” Crina said. “A consequence I have never regretted, or considered a flaw. Perhaps you were a mistake- you see that now as you’ve climbed the hierarchy of SCORPIA; Hunter was a wonderful man and perhaps if I had put forth more effort on my part, he would still be here.”

Alex swallowed twice. The third time, a lump caught in his throat and the steady breathing in his nose faltered ever so slightly.

“The odds of Yassen Gregorovich ever telling you he is proud of you are roughly the same as you ever believing he is.” Crina said, tearing Alex’s insides apart like overcooked pasta. “I am here to assure you, that Hunter would have cherished you like the stars.”

* * *

Yassen sat stiff in the comfortable chairs that SCORPIA’s men had re-purposed. D’Arc would have had to arrange it, shifting one of the smaller meeting rooms into a makeshift therapy room and office for Crina Dimitriu. Yassen couldn’t help but wonder how Malagosto’s own psychiatrist had taken the shift in power; Dr. Steiner was not a man who would enjoy any sort of destability.

“You’re looking anxious today.” Crina said, holding her glass of wine in a precarious grip. Yassen knew she did it on purpose- the careful loose grip that made it appear it could spill at any moment. She had a much stronger pincer grip than many would assume. Crina Dimitriu did not spill a drop.

Crina smiled thinly, her eyes keen and observant. “Or maybe anxious isn’t the right word. You’re looking more...restrained? Leashing your tongue? You always were the type to clam up.”

Yassen didn’t move or alter his features in any way. Crina smiled- he always was easy to rile up.

“What would you like to target today?” Crina asked, taking a precarious sip of her wine. Dark, likely Merlot. Yassen wouldn’t be surprised if she had managed to weasel her way into The Countess’ stash herself. “Your repression? Your poor coping mechanism? Your nightmares returning?”

Yassen tensed ever so slightly- the tendons of his neck protruding for a split second longer. Crina’s lips were dark red as she smiled politely. “I  _ know,  _ you’re going to claim you don’t dream. As you’ve claimed for the past few decades. Would you like to retract that statement?”

“Retracted.” Yassen said robotic-like.

Crina didn’t twitch, instead her head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Curious and keen, like a vulture waiting for the lion to grow board of its carcass. 

“Well, the good news is, you  _ do  _ have feelings.” Crina said mock celebratory, “you’re not a psychopath!”

Yassen’s face shifted into a flash second of exasperation. Crina’s grin became ever so slightly more predatory. “There you are. You can’t pick and choose your emotions, Yassen Gregorovich. You can’t shove them away and pretend they mean nothing to you.”

Yassen said nothing, Crina took a small sip of her wine again. The movement wasn’t sharp or cruel, it wasn’t orchestrated. It was humbling and quiet and the actions of a woman thinking how to proceed before a bombshell.

“You…” she paused in thought, “Yassen, you know that you are allowed to inconvenience others. You  _ are allowed  _ to take up space.”

He looked at her, cold eyes and nothing to be said. Crina tilted her head, piercing further and sharper than any knife could. 

“Scars are not places you have been hurt. They are the places you have healed and moved on from.” 

She urged him, trying to will her words to sink through his bones into the softer tissues.

Yassen didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the session.

* * *

 

“I know why you don’t like me,” Crina said quietly.

She had always built herself up to be untouchable, something universal and irremovable from any situation. Yassen had heard her stories- her fame and infamy that followed her like a trail of bloodshed. Crina Dimitriu did not leave bullets and corpses, but she left broken minds and betrayal and hurt lives. He respected her work, but he always believed he had been cleaner with the destruction he left.

“The whole time you’ve been seeing me, we’ve been talking about how to connect with your emotions. I think there is a connection between us- bonds that we’ve shared and refuse to acknowledge. Hunter talked a lot about you, his fears, his hopes, and his failures in training you.” 

Yassen looked away, at the single spec of dark red on the floor that had been drawn from his sharp flinch. Wine stain or blood stain. It all looked the same.

“Under different circumstances, we could have been friends.” Crina said, smiling sadly with something like hopelessness in her eyes. “Just know, Yassen Gregorovich, that it is possible and you can find someone else who will see what I see.”

* * *

“Hunter told me about your graduation test,” Crina said, arms crossed with no wine in sight. The sling stood out brightly, even with its dark casual look to it. The mark from his bullet, a mistake on her part.

“I helped him plan it.” Crina said, not making eye contact. She was observing a pot of plants, flowers that Yassen didn’t care for. Freshly trimmed, something slightly floral with no pollen anymore. “He was determined to make you fail. I persuaded him to hide the fact you would.”

The conversation fell flat, just as it always did. Crina without pausing fetched a small metal case from her side. The type a gun or a fragile material would be carried in. Setting it on the table next to her, she unlatched it to pull out several small pieces of what looked like shortbread. Some sort of bland cream tone cookies that she handled very carefully. Yassen had no doubts over the content. They would absolutely be laced.

“I’m not making mistakes again,” Crina assured him, although both knew that he didn’t care for her own well-being. “This is specialty ordered, I had a few people of mine research for an exact amount and outcome just to assure I wouldn’t be shot again.”

“What’s in it.”

“Black Mamba,” Crina’s eyes lit ever so slightly in amusement, “I couldn’t help myself. I know about that boat of yours, it felt fitting.”

Yassen stared at the small cookie with very well controlled apprehension. He wasn’t fond of consuming anything he didn’t know- the name of a lethal African snake didn’t help.

“Relax,” Crina murmured gently. “I won’t force you. It’s cannabis, filtered and carefully measured. Indica, although originally it does provide an upbeat sensation but you’ll relax out quickly.”

Yassen looked at it, not budging an inch. “What are its effects?”

“Relaxation, euphoria, a minor sedative although that's due to the relaxation.” Crina said. “It’s medically prescribed often for insomnia, stress, chronic pain or migraines.”

Yassen looked at her suspiciously. 

“...It’s known to make individuals slightly more talkative as well.”

* * *

Yassen sat partially slumped in the chair. It was made to be slumped in- recliners generally were. Crina sat across from him, nibbling on her (not-laced) cookies and bits of tea. Lady fingers she dipped in while sipping curiously at the combination. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, somehow synchronized to his heartbeat and the slight itching in his teeth.

“You look comfortable.” Crina said, tilting her head slightly. Yassen was staring at a spot on the wall, watching the clock tick. It was almost hypnotic with its slow movements. A marvel of engineering how clocks worked.

“Are you alright if I ask a few questions?” Crina asked professionally, crossing her ankles slightly. Her tea wisped little trails of steam- fascinating to watch as they melted and vanished into the air. The room was small, the lights halogen. Did the halogen lights affect how visible the steam trails were? Would smoke cause an equal level of haze in the room? What about a smoke bomb- it would be important information to know, one that Malogasto didn’t teach its recruits. The visibility factor of different smokes and vapours with different degrees and styles of lighting. He hadn’t thought about it before.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Crina asked gently.

He was thinking about setting the coffee table on fire to see how visible the smoke was- it could be a life or death difference on a future mission. A good distraction, or a smart way to find cover.

Crina nodded knowingly. “I won’t stop you if you would like to do so, but perhaps after I leave? I’m not too fond of fire in close quarters.”

Yassen hadn’t realized he even spoke.

“It’s a good thing then, I must be very lucky to talk with you.” Crina said very calmly.

Yassen was staring at the clock, swaying ever so slightly and looking thoroughly relaxed when he mumbled- only slightly slurred, “unlucky.”

Crina tilted her head, careful to breathe quietly. It was a common effect of indicas to loosen the verbal and subconscious barrier. A habit of mumbling out rational thoughts, the tongue moving without command to become a one word conversation to every thought passing through.

“V’ unlucky.” Yassen said to nobody, thinking it with a slowed down inhibited brain. Crina had never seen the man so relaxed, so carefree and unburdened. “Question of timing...timing and…” Yassen slurred off, likely unaware she was even in the room, “... _ sobaka.” _

Crina paused, scrambling through her mental dictionary to find the translation. Russian shifting into a comprehensible language,  _ dog. _

Yassen was mumbling more, staring sleepily and heavily intoxicated at the clock. His fingers were twitching ever so slightly with each tick of it- his jaw half open from the slack muscles of his mouth. He spoke, slurred accent unlike that of standard Russian, one from...Moscow, perhaps? 

_ Dog,  _ he said  _ that is what you are now. _

“A dog?” Crina asked once the mumbling became little more than low humming noises, vibrating without Yassen even being aware of it. “What dog?”

“‘Alsatians,” Yassen managed to say, seeing nothing, “biting at legs and thighs.”

* * *

Alex didn’t normally get requests to aid and fix problems. It wasn’t his job. Sometimes on Malagosto he would be asked to guest lecture- to intimidate some of the newer students and show that they weren’t as good as he was. Alex’s shooting records were one thing already, but to see him take down targets at the range generally humbled anyone watching.

This request was different. It wasn’t an order, but it was sounding more like a  _ plea.  _

_ Firearm range; Eastern. Urgent request for aid. _

Alex hadn’t ever gotten a message like  _ that  _ before- especially not from a very alarmed firearm supervisor.

“I’m here,” Alex said, sliding into the main building, trying to manage his way through the general entryway. 

He hadn’t expected to see a familiar face waiting for him, tight with tension and standing with his back pressed against the doorway into the range. Through the thick walls, Alex couldn’t hear any guns going off. It wasn’t as if there was some sort of fight then, otherwise the medics would be on standby as well.

“You got here fast.” Marcus said, keeping his eyes locked on the door to the outer side of Malagosto. “The others are already securing the area, managing a cover story. It’s a mess.”

Alex felt some sort of pit in his stomach swallow and dread bloom like a flower. “Who died?”

“Nobody.” Marcus grimaced, “would have been a lot easier if it was that case. Two witnesses are being escorted up to a private room, I’ll manage afterwards and see what needs to be done.”

Alex couldn’t help the anxiety curling in his gut. “What  _ is  _ the situation? A gun discharge premature? Why am  _ I  _ here?”

Marcus’ face only darkened into a look of grudging sympathy. “You’re not going to like it. It’s going to be one  _ hell  _ of a report. Better bullshit than the others. Giant scorpion size goddamn  _ heap  _ of bullshit.”

Alex looked at the door with the looming hesitation of a man on his way to his death. “We dropped a bomb. This can’t be worse.”

It was worse.

* * *

Alex had been terrified a few times in his life. Absolutely  _ terrified  _ for himself. The type of fear and gut wrenching horror that crippled your limbs and left you heaving to breathe. That same type of horror when water was choking you and  _ I can’t breathe- _

This was different, because for almost all of Alex’s life that sort of fear existed inside of him. It was  _ his problem  _ and  _ he had a handle on it. _

He didn’t know what to do.

For a few seconds, Alex thought of that tall imposing grace of Crina Dimitriu. The way she could take command of a room and turn soldiers into her own cooking staff with a few words. Alex thought of Doctor Three, how just by changing his voice he could freeze an army of assassins and come out unscathed.

Alex thought of Orion, that imposing cold broken piece of him who would do whatever he needed to do. 

In the end, Alex thought of himself- the Alex Rider that always stole the nice pillows and brought home novelty coffee mugs for the sole purpose of pissing off Yassen in the morning. The Alex Rider who stumbled into the washroom over broken glass to curl up next to Yassen the entire night. 

The same Alex Rider, who was now walking very carefully down the empty firing range to where Yassen had locked himself frozen. The trey next to him had an assortment of weapons, the cart that Mr. Gordon Ross sometimes gave out that had two dozen different types of firearms in it for situations where they had to use what they had. 

“Yassen?” Alex asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “Yassen? It’s me- can...c-can you put the gun down?”

The revolver was flush to Yassen’s head, no gap between the metal barrel and his skin. Yassen was staring down the end of the range- his targets had been perfect with whatever firearm he was using before. For some reason in the middle of practice, he stopped and turned the gun on himself. Alex knew it was loaded.

“Yassen?” Alex said, “Yassen, you’re scaring me.”

Yassen didn’t move or respond. Alex walked closer, to the point where he could see each pore on Yassen’s face- the freckles that came out from the unbearable sunshine outside. 

Yassen had taught him years ago how to grapple a weapon out of someone's hand. A flash of movement, a strike as fast as a cobra, and Alex was jerking Yassen to the side and seizing the revolver away. The metal was warm in his hands, Yassen must have been holding it in place for a long while.

Yassen clipped one side on the thick cart, his back bumping into the support pillar that separated each cubby in the firing range. The movement jostled him, jerking the sharp cold awareness back that had been absent for so long.

“Alex?” Yassen asked, sharp but slurred. He seemed just as surprised by the thick slow state of his words.

“Yes,” Alex said, unable to stop how his hands holding the revolver trembled and shook visibly, “we’re at- at the handgun range. It’s about nine am, on Wednesday-.”

“I know this.” Yassen cut him off, eyes surveying the absolute silence of the room. Alex’s breathing was strained- he felt on verge of crying. “Why are you-.”

“ _ Why  _ were you going to  _ shoot yourself!”  _ Alex shouted, not caring that Marcus outside the room would likely hear the elevation in noise. It didn’t matter, not when there were apparently witnesses to Yassen pointed a gun at his  _ face.  _ “What the-  _ why would you do that!” _

Yassen for the first time in a long time, managed to look the slightest bit shocked.

Alex stumbled back, feeling trapped and far too shaky to stay in the room. “I- I’ve got...I need to go.”

He stumbled out of the room, uncaring of the concerned look Marcus shot him as Alex hurried out. He took the revolver with him.

* * *

“You refuse to tell us anything,” Crina said, fingers tapping on the file folder. “Even what’s listed here, bleak as it is, doesn’t scrape the surface of your trauma.”

Yassen, persistently, said nothing.

Crina opened the folder, looking at the selection of pictures collected throughout the year. Highly confidential now that Yassen had been promoted- only a handful of people in the world could ever hope to see them now.

“A gun, is your trigger.” Crina said curiously, “but it isn’t. Not at all- I would say that it’s what a gun represents but if that were so, the reaction wouldn’t be as seamless as...Marcus? As this Marcus reported. Horrible report by the way.”

Yassen still said nothing.

“This is my thought,” Crina said quietly. “You have survived the unthinkable and you’ve had so many excuses you could have used to stop going and stop trying. At some point along the way, you  _ did  _ stop trying- and you were blessed and cursed by living every time.”

Yassen’s hand twitched, curling ever so slightly along the chair. His body twitched, tensing as he stared at a wall over Crina’s shoulder. He had been getting more and more expressive over time. It was heartbreaking.

“You are strong, but you don’t view it as such. You view yourself as unlucky, because you don’t like this sort of life. You believe you are condemned- that you have…”

Crina faltered, her eyes dawning with something and shifting into a sad sort of realization.

“Yassen Gregorovich, do not believe that your sins exclude you from redemption,” Crina said sadly, “to do so would exempt God, who has sinned most of all.”

* * *

Alex padded out of his bed at four in the morning. Tip toeing across a dark kitchen empty of sound. It had been a chaotic mess of noise, going on for almost two hours now. He had heard Yassen retreat back to his room, banging into the walls almost as if sleepwalking. The multiple locks were a comfort and a curse.

Alex flipped on the light, and felt his lungs squeeze painfully.

Every portion of food they owned- every can or box or jug had been opened and thrown about the room. Ketchup bottled uncapped and half open, sampling of their portions in a bowl mixed with everything else. The collections of salad that Yassen had ordered were all open- small bits sampled and taken from everything. Nothing was left untouched, nothing was done gracefully. The bits of deli meat were left out- they would be inedible come morning. Large chunks bitten straight out of them. Milk left toppled along the floor. Cottage cheese and leftover curry eaten and mixed in a disgusting mess.

Yassen had taken a bite from  _ everything in the kitchen. _

Alex felt his breathing hitch into an unsteady pattern of near sobs, and began to clean.

* * *

The straw finally broke the camel's back.

* * *

 

Alex thought about how he would die a lot.

He thought it would be by getting shot. He had been before- he had felt broken ribs. He had concussions- an attempt on his life. A bomb set on him.

He didn’t think he’d die like this, pressed between a wall and an unmovable object. Squeezed tightly, the air out of his lungs because he wasn’t supposed to breathe. Because there was a  _ hiss, _ and an exchange of screaming as the new SCORPIA supply being brought in- the bioweapon of some sort, had  _ broken,  _ and the man carrying the case  _ screamed  _ and then dropped and then-

And then there they were. Yassen grabbed Alex and shoved him into the nearest wall, covering him with his body as the smell of something sharp like ammonium burned in the air. That overwhelming stink of copper- of the warm blood puddle leaking out of the dead man’s mouth all over the floor of the room they were in.

They could have left the door, but that would have broken the biolock. They were contaminated in some sort of new biological pathogen only Yassen and Doctor Three knew and right now Yassen was trying to crush him to death against a wall and his own body. Squishing him harder and further, away from the stinking corpse and blood and Yassen was mumbling over and over in Russian.

“Yassen no-.” Alex managed to choke out, unable to quell the panic as Yassen pushed him tighter into his chest, it was hard to breathe without smelling that bland chemical smell of standard SCORPIA soap and clothing. Alex couldn’t breathe without Yassen’s own clothing as a filter- he couldn't even  _ move. _

“Yassen, let me up, let me  _ up-.” _

And the worst part was, that Yassen was repeating entirely lost as he crushed Alex further and harder, how he would carefully break Alex’s neck.

“Yassen please!” Alex tried to thrash, “I don’t-.”

_ I don’t want to die.  _ Alex wanted to scream but he couldn't because he was trembling and terrified.  _ I don’t want to die, don’t kill me. _

Yassen repeating over and over again how he was sorry, how he would kill him fast-

“I don’t want to, please.” Alex begged. “Yassen you’re scaring me,  _ please.” _

_ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”  _ Yassen repeated in Russian without even hearing Alex,  _ “I’m sorry, I’ll snap your neck, I’m sorry-.” _

“Don’t kill me!” Alex screamed muffled into Yassen’s shirt, “we’re okay- we’re  _ okay-.” _

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ Yassen kept repeating over and over as he shielded Alex from the reeking foul smell of whatever than man was covered in.  _ “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I won’t make you die like that-.” _

Alex screamed and thrashed and flailed and screamed again. 

Yassen kept apologizing.

* * *

 

They came in with gas masks and protective suits. Alex had managed to babble, prolonging over and over with begging mixed with  _ a while loner,  _ and  _ I feel fine!  _ Yassen hadn’t believed him, but he had been wrapped up with apologies and comforts as the smell grew foul and rank.

They swept in, hauling Yassen off Alex with no less than three armed guards. Alex could only faintly see Marcus in the back, shouting with a gas mask over his face as two others in decontamination suits rushed in and hauled out the body. It was gushing blood from its mouth and eyes, dead for hours.

“Fuck!” Marcus shouted, “get that shit out of here! Now! Can  _ someone  _ get me an update on where that doctor is!”

The men bumbling around couldn’t help, Alex was trembling and shaking and hating  _ everything. _

“You okay, kid?” Marcus asked, rushing over and throwing the gas mask to the ground. “You good? None of that shit on you?”

“I-.” Alex couldn’t think, “he- he was going to  _ kill me.” _

“You’re fine now.” Marcus consoled, careful not to touch Alex, “kid, you need to breathe slower. That was some sort of acid, if you didn’t touch it you’re fine. Made you hemorrhage and vomit blood like-.”

In the hallway, there came a loud howling shout of rage, “- _ anthrax!  _ Are you  _ kidding me?” _

In the doorway, like an angel dressed in a gaudy fur coat, stood Crina Dimitriu. “All of you!  _ Out now!” _

The moment the staff let go, Yassen had lunged across the room again. Narrowly missing Marcus who swore and stumbled onto his rear. Yassen took position again, smearing Alex into the wall and defensively placing himself between the world and his boy.

“You!” Crina hissed, Doctor Three emerging slightly over her shoulder with a much more guarded expression. She pointed at Marcus, “Mitchel or Mike or  _ whatever,  _ get your  _ goddamn ass  _ out of here and  _ learn how to write a report!” _

Marcus lifted both hands defensively and left the room, leaving Doctor Three, Crina, and a not entirely lucid Yassen and Alex.

Crina and Doctor Three stood in the room; tall imposing figures that shadowed over them. Blank faced, imposing and impossible to read over the overall impression of disappointment.

Yassen began to calm- perhaps it was the oppressive aura of the other two. Something about it calmed Yassen, but kept him on the verge of absolute terror. Alex couldn’t comprehend it, but the moment felt special and sacred and revolting all at once.

“SCORPIA’s people,” Doctor Three said flatly, randomly, “are hired to be unattached. Our operation comes before all else- perhaps he has become too much of a liability.”

The threat was not subtle, and it was familiar in a way the first sentence of a favourite story was. Alex could mouth along with the words, knowing how they’d fall before the man had ever said them. 

Yassen’s body had shifted, the trembling freezing into an iron cage pressing him flush to the wall and Yassen’s side. In any other case, Alex might have stopped to think about the situation, the strange familiar phrasing that itched him wrongly-

Yassen was tired and furious and terrified and-

“If you touch him,” Yassen hissed, “I will _kill you.”_

There was venom in his voice, cruel and lethal with promising truth. It was something violent and savage and far different from the disconnected assassin Alex knew. It was a different beast all together, pinning Alex behind hard muscles and away from a possible threat. A new emotional  _ wild  _ force-and if killing Doctor Three and Crina Dimitriu was necessary to keep Alex Rider alive, well, Yassen wouldn’t hesitate.

Doctor Three was deadly and had more contingency plans than Alex could imagine. He had killed people for less, killed people competent. Yassen was achieved, but even strength had to falter at one point. Crina had confessed her talents were not physical, and with the wild adrenaline fueled haze of anger, Alex was terrified what he would do.

Alex shifted, able to breathe uncomfortably from where he was pinned. He could feel Yassen’s heartbeat, fast and strong. Alex wriggled, managing to wrap one hand around Yassen’s left shoulder.

“Yassen.” 

It was the first time Alex had spoken since Yassen’s falter. Warm and quiet and something in it forced Yassen to stop. He could feel Yassen take a slow breath, chest expanding against Alex’s side. It was a reminder that Alex was there, but it wasn’t that firm cold composition Alex remembered. 

Yassen shuddered, a low keening wheezing sound that felt like the rusted gears in a machine slowly coming unstuck. The grinding breaking noise of something forgotten learning to move again- and thus marked the day Yassen Gregorovich fell apart.

 


End file.
